


Adapt. Evolve. Become.

by clehjett



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, BAMF Beverly Katz, Creepy Hannibal Lecter, Creepy Matthew Brown, Dark Will Graham, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Evolution, F/F, F/M, M/M, Manipulation, Mutant Powers, Obsessive Hannibal Lecter, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Psychic Abilities, Psychological Trauma, X-Men Inspired, caring matthew brown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21166394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clehjett/pseuds/clehjett
Summary: Mutant AUWill is a repressed mutant struggling to be a human. Hannibal sees the potential in him and does not give him the choice but to become. Will struggles with the realisation that he has abilities beyond his own imagination and has to deal with the emotions he has for Hannibal.





	Adapt. Evolve. Become.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [This Is What I Live For](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6146155) by [SeventhStrife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeventhStrife/pseuds/SeventhStrife). 

> I got this from an inspiration of someone doing a drabble on Matthew/Will mutants au and i will be including a scene very much similar to that but also including Hannigram.
> 
> Its very messy now and i don't like it but its the best i come up with for now
> 
> KUDO AND SUBSCRIBE :D
> 
> Comment to tell me I’m doing good
> 
> P. S. I do not consent to my work being reposted or used in any capacity elsewhere without my permission  
Please do not repost or use my works in any ‘unofficial apps’

The pristine door  slides open with a silent  shift  and a chipper leather clad woman with almond-shaped eyes sauntered through with a big smile on her face.  “Hey there, Teddy Grahams! How are you today?” the  greeting was met with the bright and eager brown eyes of a mass of curls, who looked up from his book,  thrilled with her visit. 

“Hello, Bev. I’m doing better today. I managed to keep everything out so far.” Will Graham replied. He tucked the book under his  pillow and smiled at her as she plopped herself down on his bed, half-stretched over it to put her feet near his thigh. 

“That’s great. But what-cha been  doin ?” Beverly laughed. 

Will  huffed an amused laugh. “Same old, Bev. Made lures,  read books, and watched the news again. Not that I would do anything different on the outside.” Will shrugged good naturedly. 

A cold stone pit dropped low in her stomach and suddenly the  sickly white bed spread, and the frumpy jumpsuit Will wore stood out to her.  Beverly  shifted her legs back unto the floor and  shifted to  s i t up beside Will, feeling guilt return and chiding herself for her stupid question. It had been easy to forget, to just be in the moment, as she had, to try and  be happy with Will. But how could she, knowing where he was. Before she could apologise for her dumb question, Will clasped her hand, and gave her a smile. 

“ You  being here ,  and asking, is enough.” He patted her hand. “It’s more than enough. You’re a great friend, Bev.” 

Beverly gave a weak smile, knowing and feeling were not the same. And they both knew it. She allowed herself to settle in, chatting with Will about her day and complaining to him about the team and Jack, before she  glanced at her watch and sighed. 

“It’s alright, Bev. I’ll be here.” 

Beverly scowled. “That’s why I’m sad.” Nevertheless, she gave Will a tight hug, where he stood to send her off, and she walked back to the  pneumatically sealed doors of Will’s ‘cell’. With a final look, she gave a brave smile, knowing it was for naught, with Will’s ability to empathise with her, but knowing the effort would be appreciated, and crossed the  door, leaving Will alone with his thoughts again.

* * *

Will had always felt like an outsider – a man between worlds. On the one hand he was unusual enough to be called a freak, but on the other, he was not different enough to be a mutant. An empathy disorder they called it. Too many mirror neurons, too much empathy. Even so, he was a loner, a hermit and a dog hoarder. It was one of the only attractive qualities he believed he had. Though many looked at the surface and saw a rugged but handsome man, on closer inspection, he was too unnerving to be a comfort. And so, Will maintained his prickly exterior. Keeping his beard to deter the shallower individual, and a semblance of stability for the discerning observer. His life was always going to be changed; but it would only be so dramatically and tragically flipped over by Hannibal Lecter. 

Will was a special  investigator; consultant profiler and he was especially sought after for both the ‘normal’ criminal and the mutant ones.  Although society liked to  fetishise the average mutant with the quirky mutation such as  rave hair or sticky fingers, the reality was that there were mutants who were too powerful to be peaceful, and the politicians loved to remind everyone of that. Will was thankful he was not in that particular category. He had nothing against them, but when he slipped into their minds and saw the power they held and the  ravishing pleasure of life over death, more than just serial killers ripping their  victim’s limb from limb, it was hard to  defend them.  Or deny how addicting  it was.

Of course, there were those that insinuated Will was all but a mutant, and just that close to being crazed. For if one such as he could get in the minds of killers both mutant and human alike, what could stop him from being anything else?

But Will was no mutant, he was a terribly unstable man and that was all. But that was all it took for him to be rejected by prospective dates, and cockblock himself with his  own  psychiatrist, Alana Bloom.  Will was well and truly alone until he met  _ him _ .

* * *

Will could hear his breath rattling out of his lungs and then wheezing back in. His chest was tight and his heart was beating unto his ribs. The dark and dusty basement walls were  slowly closing in and Will could taste the fear on his tongue as he panted. He clutched at himself and the tears bitterly stung as they welled in his eyes, and were pushed out as he blinked.

_ I'm going to die _ .

It had been an hour or so since he came to the realisation that he was trapped under a few feet of concrete and rubble. Another half to realised he might well be buried alive together with an honest to goodness corpse next to him that would probably rot in this relative humidity, slow if the lack of oxygen is any indication. Will did not write a monograph on time of death without knowing how corpses decompose into its environment. 

Will crawls on his knees to the nearest exit – that is where the door  _ was _ before it crumpled on itself in their struggle, and attempts to dig himself out. He starts removing and piling some of the smaller blocks and freezes whenever there is a minute shiver of debris falling down unto his lap. It reminds him of his childhood at the beach, where a couple of local kids had tried to bury each other in the sand, and all Will could think of or feel was each and every kid’s exhilaration; a perverse  thrill to the fear of being buried alive. Every slide of sand that collapsed unto their little bodies, so small and weak against the weight of the beach, and feeling their breath creep high in their chest in sick thrill. 

Hours fly by in the same vein and Will begins to despair. He lets the tears flow now more easily than before and collapses on the rubble. He weeps into the dirt and rubs at his eyes with the backs of his hands. He thinks about Beverly, the only person who had been nice to him in the entire Mutant Behavioural Task Force. He thinks about the soft and beautiful Alana that had been kind and which they had a mutual attraction for. He despairs at everything and lets out all the hopelessness inside him. 

_ Help me. Help me, please _ .

He realises he’s fallen asleep when he hears the muffled voices of people through layers of stone. He tiredly props himself up on his elbows, shock and fatigue making his limb feel jelly-like and translucent and tries to listen. 

“I don’t know...I just felt like there was something I was missing. Like there was something I had to do...”

“What? It’s the middle of the freaking night and its cold, man. What are we doing here?”

“Just come on. I just know there’s something here. Maybe a cat or something. Maybe I heard something crying...”

Will chokes on his spit and he coughs in his excitement to answer, the coughing stills the voice and for a moment Will fears the worst. But then the voice shouts to him, “Hey! Is someone there?”

Will gasps, tears in his eyes which he wipes away viciously. “YES! I'm here! Please help!”

There is a stunned squeal before there is shouting, but all Will can hear is his frantic gasps of breath. If he had the energy, he would have been manically laughing.

* * *

It was a strange day. First the strange feeling he felt while they were strolling down the industrial park around the block from their house, secondly, finding an emaciated man inside a collapsed building right at the fortuitous moment they had wandered close. They had never bothered to enter the park, it was abandoned, and for good reason. Structurally unsound, a business gone out of it. Occasional ghost stories from local kids. They had played around its periphery as children themselves – him and his brother – and never had the gumption to wander in. It was a collection of motley grey buildings crumbling to dust, letting nature collect its due. And its bowels, the last thing they had expected to unearth was a man and a corpse. As the bright flashing blue and red lights of the ambulance and police vehicles flashed around them, and the hubbub around the mysterious stranger became surreal and overwhelming, the brothers began to take stock of their new friend. They were shocked, when they had called the crews and the authorities, to see him revealed in the midst of chaos, and how dreadful he looked. And as disturbing as this turn of events was, they felt happy, relieved and glad for the man. He looked so young yet he had the wisdom in his face like he had seen death in his youth. They supposed with what he had been through, it was only natural. He thanked them profusely, tiredly but with a small smile that had them both strangely charmed and happy to help. The EMTs buzzed around him, while the police caught curious onlookers. 

Just when the events of that memorable night could not get stranger, the party got larger. Three hulking and bulky SUVs swerved in, boxing in the ambulance and surrounding them. The man looked resigned but calm, though the brothers were alarmed. It was obvious to even the plainest of intelligence that these were government officials, men and women in dark clothing and vests stepping out of the vehicles. Which begged more questions than answers to the already puzzling events of the evening. A tall almost eyed woman exited the vehicle with a burly dark man, which all immediately could tell were in charge. What surprised them, was the woman immediately broke off from the agent in charge and barrelled into the man. There was relieved hugged and fond chastising and as soon as the agents grew close, the atmosphere dissipated and the tenseness of a federal situation returned. The man was bundled off, the police given a talking to, and the boys were thanked and not given a word otherwise. Young Samuel reached out to the man and he turned, smiling at them. 

“Wait. If you need any help...”

“He will be fine. Thank you for  your help.” the tall agent clipped and dismissed. 

The man turned anyway, and shook their hands again, as if sensing their discomfort at these people taking him away. “Thank you, really.” He smiled. “My name is Will Graham.”

* * *

It is only much later, when Will begins to take stock of when exactly his life began unravelling and messed up does, he  begins to see all the little pieces. He hates that it paints Hannibal in a much more flattering light but it makes him doubt how truly it could have been if he had wanted it. Was there really no choice? Was he always meant to be this way? Was Hannibal simply the catalyst? The spark that lit the match? The man who delivered the cinders? Was it already bursting with potential? 

Yes, he would have to realise. He was always going down this path.


End file.
